


Amuse-bouche

by Wicked_Seraph



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: BananaValentine2019, Come Swallowing, Deepthroating, I'm Sorry, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Under-the-Table Blow Job, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 23:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17776532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked_Seraph/pseuds/Wicked_Seraph
Summary: Ash and Eiji, like most couples, enjoy a romantic Valentine's Day dinner.Unlike most couples, one of them is keen on an appetizer not offered on the menu.[Written for#BananaValentine2019. I hope you enjoy!]





	Amuse-bouche

Ash glances at the menu, eyes lingering over descriptions and photographs before settling somewhere near the middle of the page.

“I’ll take the Caesar salad, though if I may, I’d like the dressing on the side, please. My guest won’t be ordering any hors d'oeuvres.”

The waitress nods politely before closing the curtain, obscuring Ash — noted on the reservation list as “Christopher Winston” — and his unnamed guest. 

Ash reaches beneath the table, fingers brushing past the tablecloth before finding purchase in soft, thick locks. He feels Eiji’s head tilt, cheek leaning into his palm; Eiji’s lashes flutter against his skin.  He runs his thumb along the outline of Eiji’s lips, and their gentle curve becomes wicked as they part, allowing Ash to dip between them. Eiji glances up at him as he sucks and licks in a way that makes heat surge between Ash’s legs. He closes his eyes, expression softening as he groans softly in approval; Ash is suddenly grateful for the fountain in the middle of the foyer, the floor-to-ceiling partitions separating the dining tables, and the heavy, moss-green curtain providing privacy.

“You’re so good to me” Ash whispers.

“Only because you deserve it. Now lower the tablecloth and unzip for me,” Eiji says sweetly, nuzzling Ash’s thigh. Ash reaches down obediently, fingers trembling as he fumbles with the zipper; Eiji’s smile is angelic before he disappears behind the tablecloth once more.

Thin, deft fingers stroke him, already hard and aching, through the fabric of his trousers; he can feel Eiji run his mouth along the outline of his cock,  letting his teeth graze him. Ash’s breath hitches, quickly covered by a false cough.

He hears Eiji’s low hum of pleasure, feels Eiji’s hand wrap around him and maneuver his heated flesh through the zipper. He expects cold and instead feels the heat of Eiji’s breath against him.

“Eiji—” Ash hisses; without thinking he clenches the hand carding through Eiji’s hair, and  Eiji lets out a yelp too husky to be from pain.

Without warning  he feels something hot and wet run along his length, agonizingly slow; the anticipation unfurls near the base of his spine. Eiji’s tongue is torturous, stroking and tasting him with a languidness betrayed by the soft vibrations he recognizes as Eiji moaning around him. Every so often Ash feels Eiji’s lips close, surrounding him just enough to steal his breath. He hears a soft giggle from between his legs; he can almost picture Eiji’s face, eyes dark beneath disheveled hair, his lips slick and reddened. 

Eiji’s laughter is little more than a suggestive purr, barely discernible above the drone of the fountain and diners surrounding them — but audible still. Ash thinks of the couple sitting on the other side of the partition, silverware clinking against their dinner plates and the single sharp chime of wine glasses raised in a toast.

“Would you like more?”

A familiar bloom of warmth caresses something fragile in his chest. Eiji can read the unabashed pleasure in his expression, can surely feel the tension in Ash’s fingers, but not once has Eiji ever done something without asking first. Even on his knees beneath a dining table with Ash’s desire streaked across his lips, Eiji asks; his eyes are wild with lust, but earnest and accepting.

_It’s okay not to want this_ , they say.  _It can end here if you don’t want anything else._

“God, yes,” Ash murmurs. Before he can stop himself, he takes himself in hand, tracing the outline of Eiji’s eager mouth. Eiji remains still, lips unmoving but pliant as Ash presses inward. Ash’s eyes flutter shut, control slipping as he teases himself further between them, unbearably slow. He can’t imagine what expression Eiji might be wearing, unable to focus on anything other than small, wet lips, their friction, and the sinful heat just beyond them. He bites into the heel of his hand as Eiji sucks at the tip of his cock ( _so_ _much for being passive_ , Ash thinks, equal parts grateful and amused), tongue flicking against the slit. He can feel the bizarre juxtaposition of agile tongue and, as Eiji takes him further, the roof of his mouth. Hard palette becomes soft palette, and Ash trembles as impossibly tight heat surrounds him, resonant with a muffled whimper as Eiji takes him deeper.

Ash risks a look, pushing back the tablecloth, and feels himself grow lightheaded. Eiji’s cheeks are flushed and swollen from the cock currently nestled in the back of his throat; something about seeing himself protruding lewdly from trousers that cost more than a month’s rent,  Eiji on his knees between his thighs, drives home how much he shouldn’t do this, how much Eiji shouldn’t do this, and how little he cares about such proprieties.

Eiji looks up at him from beneath thick lashes, seeming surprised but far from displeased at having an audience. His gaze smolders, unwavering as he slowly withdraws, lips and tongue dragging against Ash’s length; his cock is slick with Eiji’s spit and he feels himself twitch with need, resisting the urge to thrust. Eiji smirks, watching Ash watch him, and slackens his jaw, taking Ash further and further with a deliberateness bordering on cruelty. Ash runs a finger along Eiji’s cheek, feeling the outline of himself inside Eiji’s mouth.  A thousand words are on the tip of his tongue, some sweeter than others, and instead he settles for dropping the tablecloth, allowing Eiji to dictate the game he’d arranged. He tilts his head back appreciatively, one hand carding through Eiji’s hair while the other covers his mouth to silence his quickening breaths. Eiji’s pace is merciless, mouth and throat like a succubus’s vice around him. 

He feels himself losing sense of time or surroundings; his thoughts are a mingled, feverish blur, a filthy choir of needy praise he hopes is conveyed in the shameless spread of his legs and trembling hand running through his hair.

“Mr. Winston, your hors d'oeuvres.”

Eiji slows, but does not stop; he feels the slightest graze of teeth and knows their intent.

_Open the curtain. If you spoil the game, this ends_ .

Ash caresses Eiji’s lips, pursed around his length, before withdrawing his hand. He parts the curtain, just enough to allow the waitress to place the small salad plate on the table. He hopes the smile on his face is polite rather than lascivious.

“Are you ready to order?”

He feels himself being taken deeper, being sucked more wantonly, and clears his throat to hide the throaty growl that had threatened to escape.

“A-almost there,” he stammers.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s just that—”

_ — he’s in Eiji’s throat, so fucking deep, he can feel Eiji’s lips against his groin —  _

“I haven’t really decided. I apologize, I’ll be finished in just a minute.”

The waitress fixes him with a smile that is unreadable, but edges dangerously close to suspicion.

“Of course. Take your time. And your… companion…?”

“… is currently in the washroom. He gets a bit claustrophobic and wanted some fresh air.”

The waitress’s smile softens.

“Of course. I do hope your friend is feeling well soon. Please do let me know if you need anything.”

The waitress’s relief is nearly palpable as she draws the curtain.

_So that’s how it is._

Ash’s lust takes on a slightly vindictive edge, and he can’t help but jerk minutely into Eiji’s mouth, both hands dipping beneath the table cloth to card through Eiji’s hair, fucking his mouth as gently as his desire will let him. Eiji says nothing, but the way he sighs with every snap of Ash’s hips suggests he feels similarly. Pleasure fires along every nerve in his body, his conscious thoughts consumed by the lush, wet heat around his cock and rhythmic bob of Eiji’s head, punctuated by lewd gulping with every thrust.

“Fuck, Eiji, I’m gonna—”

Eiji, rather than pull away, encourages Ash deeper, meeting every greedy thrust with a desperate whine. Ash peeks beneath the tablecloth; Eiji is dangerously close to his own limits, one hand cupped between his thighs as he thrusts against his palm with every bob of his head. Tears cling to the corner his eyes.  _Not everyone lacks a gag reflex_ , Ash thinks, guilty but not enough to stop driving further into Eiji’s throat, his nose brushing against the blond curls between Ash's thighs. 

The final thread of Ash’s self-control severs; he thrusts into Eiji's mouth with a sharp gasp, biting down hard on his hand as his vision is dyed white. He feels himself empty into Eiji’s throat, feels Eiji gulp it down eagerly with a wanton moan. Even as he feels himself tremble with aftershocks Eiji milks the pleasure from him, gaze alight with undisguised want.

It’s only when Ash leans back, panting in sheer exhaustion, that Eiji releases him, tucking him back into his pants delicately before reappearing on the opposite side of the table. He flashes his tongue at Ash — a small pool of his own lust right in its center — before swallowing it with a satisfied smirk. 

“So how will you explain the reappearance of your guest, Mr. Winston?” Eiji asks, chuckling quietly at the alias.

“I’ll tell them that he was parched and needed something to drink.”

“That explains what I was doing, but not how I came back unnoticed.”

Ash shrugs, finding it difficult to feel concerned past the bliss suffusing his body; tendrils of pleasure still tugged at him, simmering lust and something sweeter just beyond it. This was far from the first time he’d done something quite this salacious, but never as a willing participant, and never without feeling like scrubbing his skin raw afterwards. How strange, to be asked in a way that was not rhetorical, to be devoured in a way that didn’t leave him feeling as though something had been taken from him. 

“Are you alright?”

Eiji’s brows are furrowed, his expression uncertain and wary. Eiji doesn’t know — can’t know — every single act of love that might echo something more bitter, but he seems to instinctively know how to read the pensive silence that often follows.

Ash smiles, reaching across the table and lacing his fingers with Eiji’s. Eiji strokes the back of his hand, responding to Ash’s smile almost instinctively; Eiji has smiled more times than Ash can count, but each time he still finds himself breathless for a moment, overwhelmed with warmth, with light. It feels peculiar, but he allows himself to bask in it.

“I’m more than alright. Though I gotta say… I never knew you were such a pervert, Eiji.”

Eiji sticks out his tongue, expression twisting into one of comical outrage — though, Ash notes, his hand is still warm and grounding against his own. To his amusement, there’s still a small streak of melted chocolate on the corner of Eiji's lips. He cups Eiji’s face with his unclaimed hand, running a thumb gently near his mouth.

“You missed a spot.”

“Oh?”

Ash leans across the table and claims Eiji’s lips, still parted in mild confusion. Eiji’s lips are a strange, suggestive combination of flavors — Valentine’s Day chocolates, wine, and Ash’s own lust. Heat flares briefly in his stomach, but he stifles it, treasuring the simple pleasure of Eiji’s warm lips against his own, soft and welcoming. The kiss ends almost as quickly as it begins, but it’s enough to make Ash’s heart race again, to cause color to rise in Eiji’s cheeks once more. Ash is breathless, heady with pleasure so easily reignited. 

“I claim dessert.”


End file.
